


Только Раз Бывают В Жизни Встречи (Only Once In a Lifetime)

by cinnamont



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M, Romani & Travelers, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-01 10:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10920414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamont/pseuds/cinnamont
Summary: Written for the Klaine Prompt Reverse Bang. In a time when everything in your life is defined by your birth, how you live and who you marry, can Knight Kurt and Romani Blaine make a place for their love?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the KPRB mods for organizing this Bang and giving us new fic and art to fangirl over. Check out [prompt-a-klainefic](http://prompt-a-klainefic.tumblr.com) for more klaine fic prompts… and maybe fill one :D
> 
> My gratitude to Heather, my beta, for her patience dealing with my delinquency and constant changes.
> 
> So many thanks to [riverance](http://riverance.tumblr.com) for her absolutely sumptuous artwork and for providing the original prompt! Let her know how talented she is and how lucky our fandom has been for having her apart of it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt returns home to find a Romani tabor camping on his family lands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story is set in a fictionalized medieval period. Where possible I try for some historical accuracy, for instance early castles were made of wood, not stone.
> 
> Because the prompt that inspired this is personal to riverance, I wanted to include some Russian touches. Sadly my knowledge of Middle Ages Russia is too slim for me to credibly place the story there so instead, I tried to make the architecture and clothing more in the traditional Russian style. 
> 
> Blaine is Romani (gypsy/traveler) so I also tried to bring in some Romani culture but it varies so much between groups and over time, I am sure I made many mistakes.
> 
> The title for this fic comes from a title of a Romani song.

> _[His] image had passed into his soul for ever and no word had broken the holy silence of his ecstasy. [His] eyes had called him and his soul had leaped at the call. To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life! A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory. On and on and on and on!_ —James Joyce, _Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man_

Kurt Hummel knew these woods, the dwarf pines, stone birches, spruces and larch trees as familiar to him as his own family. He was home!

His feet ached in his boots but he wouldn't stop now, not when he was so close to his father's keep. But he did veer off the well-trodden road for the promise of the cool waters of the lake that had been the joy of his childhood, the escape from many a hot summer day. Kurt led Pav, whose head sagged wearily, no doubt longing for his stall, and a bale of hay and a bucket of oats. The reins were slack in his gloved hand as they made their way down a gentle slope.

The horse's ears pricked forward and Pav's head came up with a toss of his mane, his wide nostrils flaring and he nickered his excitement. Pav smelled the water, fresh clear water to quench his thirst. Kurt felt it too, to be able to wash away the sweat and dust of the road quickened his steps. They broke free of the trees and brush to the wide expanse of a blue lake, sparkling in the late summer sun like someone had scattered diamonds across its surface. _Home_ , Kurt's mind cried again.

Just as he was thinking of stripping out of all his clothes and going for a swim, his head turned. Perhaps it was the splash of water or maybe a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, that caught his attention, either way, Kurt looked and a ways down the shore was a boy, standing barefoot in the shallows, his breeches rolled up to the knees. He was bent over, cupping water over his head, scrubbing at his face, sluicing more over his bare shoulders.

Kurt stood frozen, mesmerized by the sight, the dark hair, the smooth skin more tanned than his own. The boy straightened and stared out across the lake. Then his hands went to the waist of his breeches and he was unfastening them but just as he was about to push them down his hips, Pav neighed loudly, jerking the reins in Kurt’s hand. The horse shuffled impatiently, annoyed that Kurt brought him so close to wonderfully delicious water but stopped too far away to reach it.

The boy had heard and he was staring at him. Kurt's heart was thudding in his chest and his cheeks heated with embarrassment at being caught spying, though why should he, these were his family's lands and Kurt did not recognize him. Of course, he’d been gone for most of the year. Had some lad grown so much in that way they surprise adults with how much they've changed?

The boy was walking slowly back to the shore now, never taking his eyes off him. Pav jerked at the reins again and Kurt took pity on his thirst. He led Pav forward until the horse dropped his head and began to drink greedily. Kurt dropped the reins, Pav was too well-trained to run off. By the time, Kurt turned back, the boy had gathered his clothes and boots and was heading for the trees. Apparently he did not want a confrontation. Kurt could understand why, he may not have been able to afford full plate armor but he wore the chain mail of a soldier and a sword was belted at his waist. Nevertheless Kurt was not about to let some stranger trespass on his land and then sneak away.

Kurt called out and the boy stopped and glanced back at him. Kurt advanced calmly yet ready to give chase if the boy bolted. But the stranger did not run, instead he walked straight for Kurt and as he came closer, Kurt realized that he was not a boy but a man full grown. It was just that he was a little shorter than most men Kurt knew. But there was none of a youth's body that had yet to grow into its own. His shoulders were smooth and broad, his muscles lean across his chest where the lake water beaded into a thousand droplets, occasionally growing heavy enough to roll down the dips and valleys of his stomach where his breeches rode low on his hips. Kurt's face flamed at the cut of those hips and the dark trail of hair from his belly button disappearing beneath the coarse weave of his pants, nearly the same chestnut brown as Pav.

When Kurt dragged his eyes back to the stranger's face, he was near enough to see his hair was a mass of curls, glistening and wet, a day's growth of beard on a strong square jaw, heavy brows and dark lashes. But just as striking was that he looked Kurt in the eye, bold as you please. Though the manner of his dress, the worn and mended trousers, the vivid blue tunic folded over an arm and the scuffed boots gripped in one hand, was that of a peasant, he displayed no obedience or fear when confronted by a member of a noble boyar family. Not even an itinerant craftsman, beholden to no lord would be so brazen. Neither was there defiant challenge. No, his eyes looked upon him with open curiosity. It struck Kurt that this man was like an untamed stallion that had grown up without ever knowing a bridle and simply did not recognize a master.

Only one such people Kurt could think of were so free. "You're a gypsy?"

Did the man roll his eyes at him? He turned his head away quickly to hide the gesture. When he looked back, he was grinning, merriment in his eyes now. He inclined his head in acknowledgement and Kurt was uncertain as to how to take this. He was not insolent nor was he deferential. This man of no rank merely greeted him as if they were on equal footing. Kurt ought to be offended but he wasn't. Instead he was caught by the simple beauty of a free spirit.

"You are on Hummel land," Kurt stated.

The Gypsy's smile only widened. "I know it." His tenor voice was accented. Kurt could not place it, somewhere from the East, he guessed. "We have the Baron's leave to stay here."

Kurt frowned. "We?"

"My family and I," the Gypsy answered. "We camp here for summer."

Kurt was surprised Father Figgins hadn't told his father to run them off, but then his father was a fair man.

"You return from journey," the man said as a simple statement of fact and Kurt must have looked suspicious because the Gypsy gestured at him with a nod of his head.

When Kurt looked down at himself he saw the badge of his Family and, of course, his mud-encrusted boots. The Gypsy man hardly needed magical arts to see the obvious.

"You want to know your future?" the man's grin turned mischievous. "I tell you your fortune... for a gold coin."

Kurt huffed, debated a moment, then shrugged. He reached for his purse at his belt and held out the coin. "Better be a good fortune for a gold coin," Kurt scoffed and the Gypsy man chuckled as he took it.

After pulling off his glove, Kurt extended his hand and it was taken in both of the Gypsy's still cool from the lake and rough with callouses but then so was Kurt's. In this world, no one had an easy life.

The Gypsy spread his hand open and seemed to still, his jovial smile fading from his lips. He stood unmoving with his eyes riveted on Kurt's palm for so long that Kurt grew alarmed.

"What? What do you see?" Kurt didn't like the concern he could hear in his own voice. He didn't believe in hocus pocus after all. Was this how they drew rubes in? Had them waiting with bated breath, ready to believe anything? He hated that he was so quick to respond.

The Gypsy's eyes snapped up to Kurt's face, his expression unreadable but intense. He shook his head suddenly then his smile was back but it was fake. "You are strong, daring—" Kurt snorted and the Gypsy added, "and stubborn!"

Kurt made a face. "I suppose you will tell me next that I will meet a dark and beautiful woman."

"No, no woman."

Kurt locked eyes with the Gypsy man. Did he know? Kurt wondered frantically. In an attempt to break whatever spell was between them, Kurt asked, "What is my future then?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Hardly worth a gold coin," Kurt chided.

Unfazed, the Gypsy replied, "You have a choice to make and until you do, your future is not set." He paused before continuing, choosing his words carefully, "There is a love that waits for you... but it will only come at a price. You may have to sacrifice something dear to you. If you cannot, that love will be lost to you."

Kurt gaped at the man. He wanted to rail against what he just said, deride it, but somewhere in his heart he feared it there was truth there.

"That is all I can say," the Gypsy said. As he turned to go, he pulled the blue _kosovorotka_ shirt over his head.

Impulsively Kurt called after him, "Who tells a gypsy's fortune?"

The man glanced back, a wicked gleam in his eye, "Romani hearts go their own way."

"Wait! What's your name?"

"Blaine." And with that he disappeared into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of RL distractions, I have not yet finished writing this fic. I will post the next chapter as soon as it is done.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt is welcomed home by his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned 4 chapters but now I think I break them into smaller sections so I can update more often.
> 
> In this fic Carole is mother to both Finn and Kurt because Kurt is the younger son and Finn the heir. Also in this verse, homosexuality is not an issue.

The sun was sinking toward the horizon by the time Kurt and Pav arrived at the gates of his father's Keep. When it was originally built atop the motte hill by the first Baron, it was just the three-storied tower with the defensive curtain wall encircling it. It was soon followed by a building to house the kitchens that would feed the Baron and his family as well as his men-at-arms. In subsequent generations, a Bailey enclosure was added at the foot of the hill. It would house a stable, a barracks for the growing ranks of banner men, a smithy, storehouses, and a barn for livestock. In later years, the little village just outside the original walls was also enclosed behind a palisade wall of spiked timber.

As Kurt rode up the single road to the Hummel Keep, the soldier in the gate tower shouted down a "Who goes there?" Pav slowed to a walk to cross the bridge that spanned the ditch that ran outside the palisade wall. It was a dry moat, filled not with water but hundreds of deadly spikes to deter would-be attackers.

"Kurt Hummel," he called back to the soldier. He removed his helmet and turned his face up so he could be recognized by the man in the tower window.

"Master Hummel, you've returned!" the guard greeted.

"As you see," Kurt returned the greeting.

The guard turned from the window to shout an order. Moments later the gate door was being unbarred and swung open. The doors were left open during the day and only closed at evening for the night. The foot soldier who opened the door waved his own welcome as Kurt entered.

The village was quiet and mostly deserted, everyone having retired for the day. Kurt returned from a city where the houses may have been larger and grander, but this little village had Kurt's heart. He loved the pride that showed in the brilliant colors the villagers painted their homes and shops, the greens and blues and whites and yellows. He loved the skills of their wood carvers that could turn sturdy wood into delicate lace-like patterns that framed windows and lined the eaves of the roofs. Houses were hewn from log trees, strong enough to endure the harshest winters, then burst out in colors when the snows finally melted with their planted flowers and kitchen gardens.

As the village was the hub of all business and trade, a smithy was built here and where the blacksmith currently resided. The original smithy in the first Bailey still remained intact, though vacant, so in times of siege, the blacksmith could retreat to the more protected first Bailey and continue to work on equipment and weapons.

And just past the smithy was the church that was Father Figgins seat of power. It was the tallest building and grander than even the Baron's own keep with its multiple roofs and center tower rising up and crowned in an onion dome and tipped with a cross. It was surrounded by smaller spires with their own onion domes and smaller crosses. As a little boy, Kurt imagined the crosses were like the priest with all the people gathered around him, their arms outstretched to receive the blessings of the Lord.

The church sat just outside the gate to the first Bailey. Kurt was again greeted with surprise and welcome and he crossed over another deeper, dry moat. The fortifications around the inner Bailey were imposing: the curtain wall was enclosed allowing soldiers to move through the wall corridor sheltered from enemy fire, covered windows could be opened to rain arrows down on attackers. The gate tower was larger and the door heavier, but this night the door remained open, a sign that there was no impending danger. The banner men were free to visit the village tavern as long as they returned in time for curfew.

Upon entering the inner sanctum, Kurt dismounted and walked Pav the remaining feet to the stable where the stable boy came out to meet him. Disgruntled at the hour, the youth immediately changed to excitement when he recognized Kurt. He was full of eager questions. Kurt laughed and promised to tell all about his adventures tomorrow but right now he was anxious to see his family again.

Kurt made his way on foot to the third and last draw bridge and yet another impressive gate tower. This time the guard who passed him through rang a warning bell, not announcing a visitor but signaling a triumphant return, making Kurt smile wearily. The steep climb up the hill to the Keep enclosure was made all the worse for the weight of his chain mail under his _chupa_ kaftan tunic which seemed to perversely double in weight. Maybe he should have bedded down in the barracks and surprised his family in the morning.

Too late now. Kurt entered through the smaller original gate tower to, at last, his father's Keep and was immediately mobbed by a pack of excited hounds jubilant to see their master's son again. Kurt rubbed the heads of some while pushing off the more aggressive ones trying to jump up on him.

"Kurt, my boy!" boomed a deep voice. Baron Burt Hummel strode out of the Keep tower, he wore a simple open-sleeved kaftan robe. "Get off, you brutes," Burt commanded his dogs. He pulled a couple aside by the collar so he could get to his son. Kurt was enveloped into a hearty embrace.

"Papa," Kurt laughed happily, squeezing him back.

Burt pulled back and clapped Kurt on the shoulders. "My son is home!"

"Kurt! Kurt!" Carole cried, sweeping her youngest son into a tearful hug. She caught his face in her hands kissing him repeatedly on both cheeks to his laughing protests. "So skinny!" she chided. "Didn't they feed you in Karmel?"

"He's taller!" Burt noted with pride.

"Not that tall," Finn scoffed. And Kurt was hauled up into his hulking brother's arms and lifted and inch off the ground.

Kurt squawked indignantly, pulling free, swatting his brother that led to a playful exchange of shoves, reminiscent of childhood tussles that Kurt usually came out the worse for wear.

"Look who thinks he's a Cossack!" Finn laughed, shaking the hilt of Kurt's sword.

"Says the mountain troll!" Kurt shot back.

"Like swine in the fields, the pair of you," Quinn admonished gently from the Keep's doorway.

By now the entire Keep and kitchen's servants came out to see the commotion and welcome Kurt home. They chuckled at Quinn's stricture.

The brothers pulled apart. Finn had managed to marry a woman whose beauty rivaled the Angels but often could be as aloof. A movement brought Kurt's attention to a small child with light brown hair hiding in her mother's skirts.

"Beth?" Kurt guessed.

"Yeah!" Finn grinned with a father's pride. "Come on, Beth, it's your Uncle Kurt. Don't you remember him?"

But no amount of cajoling from her father could convince the girl to come out. Burt solved the matter by laughingly hoisting the two year old toddler into his arms but Beth hid her chubby face in her grandfather's big shoulder. Burt said, "Well, maybe the next one will be bolder."

"Next one?" Kurt looked to Finn who grinned like a big dope, then over to Quinn. She smiled and placed a hand over her midsection. Now that it was mentioned, Quinn's sarafan dress was not as narrow to fit her trim figure as she usually preferred but fuller and not belted around her waist.

"Let's not stand about like chickens in the yard. Come inside," Carole took command. "You've missed the evening meal. Marley Rose, go fetch some food."

The servant girl scurried off to the kitchen while everyone filed back into the Keep. It was a simple, fortified three-story tower with a parapet at the top. The ground floor was almost entirely one single room, the Great Hall. Heavy tapestries hung against the walls, depicting the histories of the Land and their Family. Long trundle tables were still set up from the dinner where the household ate with the Baron and his family whose table was at the far end on a raised dais.

"Rory," Carole called for the young boy who was Burt's body servant. "Help Kurt off with his armor."

Rory was the son of one of their peasant farmers who worked their lands. He took the sword and belt from Kurt. Gratefully, Kurt unbuttoned the chuba tunic, a kaftan specialized for soldiers with long cuts to make it easier to ride a horse. Rory had to assist him out of the chain mail and then the padded tunic under it.

Kurt all but sighed with relief to have that stifling weight removed. His shirt was soaked and stuck unpleasantly to his body. It was no joy to have to travel in late summer in all that gear but he was journeying alone over long stretches of road, a prime target for brigands. A basin of fresh water was brought for him to wash.

"Where are your belongings?" Carole inquired.

"What I brought with me, I left in the stables," Kurt replied. "It can be brought up in the morning. The rest will be coming with the merchant wagons. And the gifts I bought for everyone. Silk!"

That made Quinn and Carole smile. They all gathered around the table to hear Kurt's stories of life in the court of The Count of Karmel where Kurt had gone to train and do the service their family owed Count Goulsky.

Marley Rose brought a meal of cold mutton, cheese and bread.

"An Envoy from the West was visiting and his wife wore a gown with cuts in the skirts so you could see the red shift she wore underneath when she walked."

Quinn gasped and Marley let out a squeal and smothered giggles into her hand. "Well! At least she was a married woman," Carole remarked. "Western ways are best left to Western folk." She shooed Marley off before she got anymore scandalous ideas in her head.

"Don't suppose anyone caught your eye beside what they were wearing?" Burt asked.

Kurt lifted his cup to drink to hide what he feared was a blush because an image of Blaine came immediately to mind.

"Wouldn't hurt for you to start thinking of settling down," Burt told him.

"You just want a pack of grandchildren to match your pack of dogs running at your heels," Kurt scoffed.

Burt let out a laugh. "And what's wrong with that, I'd like to know."

Soon Quinn pleaded fatigue and excused herself to put Beth to bed. Carole offered to arrange bedding upstairs on the second floor that was reserved for the family's personal apartments. Kurt declined. Since he was old enough to sleep away from his parents, Kurt slept in the Great Hall along with all the household staff. He saw no reason to change that now. There were another round of hugs for Kurt as they all retired for the evening. Servants brought Kurt padded cushions to bed down on the trundle table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Middles Ages, privacy was hard to come by. Families, even nobility, often all slept in one room. Only later, if they could afford it, did they have a separate room upstairs.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt is drawn to Blaine though they can never meet.

In the morning, Kurt had no choice but to rouse along with the rest of the household as they cleared away the beddings and made ready for the first meal of the day.

At one end of the dais was the family altar of crosses and icons. Father Figgins arrived in his heavily embroidered robes to give the family morning mass and say a special prayer of thanks for Kurt's safe return, then the household sat down to breakfast.

Burt had to spend the day with William, his bailiff, to discuss the division of labor necessary for the upcoming harvest, so Finn and Kurt left to go to the first Bailey to visit with the banner men and regale them with Kurt's adventures. They arranged a schedule for Kurt to teach them the new techniques in fighting he learned in Karmel.

Finn and Kurt then headed off for the village where they were greeted by everyone they saw. Kurt stopped when he caught sight of Blaine.

The Gypsy man wore a red _kosovorotka_ shirt and striped pants. His dark curls were bound underneath a red scarf. He wasn't alone, he was with two older women in peasant blouses and flowered skirts, their hair also bound in scarves. They were bartering for eggs and flour.

Blaine glanced over and saw Kurt. His mouth curved up in a grin, his eyes knowing.

"Those are the gypsies camped here for the summer," Finn said when he noticed the direction of Kurt's stare.

Kurt flushed at being caught. Across the way, Blaine smirked. "Do they come into the village often?"

Finn shrugged. "Once in awhile, to trade or get something repaired. Hey, um, I'm going to, uh, go over to the bakers," Finn gestured vaguely in the direction of the baker's house.

"Trying to get some sweet buns?" Kurt teased.

"What?!" Finn exclaimed. "Who told you that?"

Kurt side-eyed at Finn who looked guilty. "It's hardly a secret that you love to eat, Finn."

"Oh right! Yeah," Finn chuckled kind of embarrassed. "So, you don't, um, mind if I go...?"

"No," Kurt told him and frowned as he watched Finn hurry off. What was with him? Was it Kurt's imagination or was his dopey brother acting a little more dopey than usual? But then again, Finn was pretty wound up the last time Quinn was pregnant. Maybe that was it.

Kurt looked back to where Blaine was with the two women and started toward them but he was waylaid by a group of children all wanting to know what it was like in a big city. This was how it was. Most people here would never travel beyond the boundaries of their little corner of the world. Anyone who traveled outside those borders became instant celebrities. By the time Kurt had satisfied enough of their curiosity to break away, Blaine and the women were gone.

Later as the day waned, Kurt slipped away to one of the watch towers along the curtain wall. He brought _pastila_ , fruit pastries, for the man on sentry duty and they chatted though the real reason he came was so he could have a look at the gypsies camped on the north field along the edge of the forest. It was a loose gathering of tents and covered wagons, painted every bright color. Off to one side was a small herd of horses cordoned off by a ring of rope.

"A tabor," came Burt's voice from behind. He came to stand next to Kurt. "That's what they call their camp. They're a family group. Ilia is their leader."

Kurt started to say that he met one of them but then stopped. He never kept secrets from his father but he wasn't ready to share this information yet, not when his mind was so full of questions that he didn't have answers for. So instead he asked, "And you let them stay?"

"On the condition they not cause trouble and stay within sight of our sentries," Burt shrugged. "And not practice their wicked devil magic - as Father Figgins calls it." Father and son shared a laugh over that.

"I saw some of them in the village today," Kurt said.

Burt nodded. "I told them they could trade as long as they made fair bargains. They're horse traders and I bought a couple of mares from them. Good horse flesh," Burt had to admit.

"And they've kept their word?" asked Kurt.

"Pretty much," Burt conceded. "I expect a few have snuck off to their camp to get their fortunes told. There was an incident early on. A couple of the men got fresh with one of their women who didn't take kindly to it. Fortunately Finn was there and put an end to it before it could turn into a brawl. That wasn't their doing, though, and I had a strong word to the men about keeping their distance."

Kurt was looking off at the Gypsy camp - tabor. _Your future is not set. A love waits for you._ A merry pair of eyes danced in his memory.

"Kurt!" Burt broke his reverie, eyeing his son sharply. "I've ordered the people to stay away from their tabor. As a member of the ruling family I expect you to set the example to follow."

Kurt flushed lightly. Little escaped his father's sharp eye, had he guessed at the thought that was only just forming in his mind, wondering if he could find some excuse to see Blaine again. But with this order, that was now an impossibility. "Yes, sir," Kurt gave the only answer he could.

Burt laid his hand approvingly on his son's shoulder.

Kurt kept his word, he stayed away from the Gypsy tabor but that didn't mean he couldn't look on from a distance. He volunteered for evening watch. From the tower parapet, he saw the campfire glows, he heard music, drums and guitar and violin and a faint hint of singing in a joyous, whirling celebration. He imagined the dancing and laughter. He imagined a dark-haired man with laughing eyes dancing or maybe singing. If his father hadn't forbade it, would he have the nerve to go there? Would they invite him to join them?

During the day, Kurt longed to go into the village and perhaps chance a glimpse of Blaine but he had responsibilities and that meant beginning the training sessions. And in the evenings, he was again at watch in the tower, wearing his mantle-cloak against the growing chill in the air. Every night the music wafted up from the tabor. Sometimes the songs spoke of unbearable longing but more often they were fun, fast and called out to ones feet to skip and chase after its melody. More and more, those songs followed Kurt into his dreams.

*

In the Keep excitement was growing. The harvest was over and it had been a good year. Preparations began for the great feast. The Great Hall would be playing host to the farmers and villagers bound to Baron Hummel to give thanks for another prosperous year.

Burt and Finn escaped the hive of activity in the Keep by going down to inspect the storehouses to insure they were in good order for the coming fall and winter. Kurt found them there.

"Papa, I was wondering, perhaps we should invite the Gypsies to join the feast?" Kurt suggested. "They are our guests on our lands and they did help bring in the crops."

"For a portion of them," Finn huffed.

"A fair portion," Kurt rebutted. "Papa?"

Finn looked over at Burt. He said nothing but his thoughts were plain nevertheless. It was inviting trouble. Burt paused what he was doing to consider it, weighing the pros and cons. "I don't know, Kurt..."

"We could ask them to play music," Kurt added hopefully.

That got Finn's attention. "There've been no musicians this year."

That was true, no traveling bands of musicians or players had come to Lima to provide some welcomed entertainment. Burt removed his cap to rub his head. Every year there was a little less hair. "Well, you're right about that. Alright then, we'll invite them."

"I'll go and speak with them," Kurt volunteered a little too eagerly.

"Hold on, Kurt," Burt stopped him before he could disappear. "Finn, go with him."

Kurt bit back a groan. "Papa!" he complained, "surely I'm too old for a babysitter."

"It's not you I'm thinking of but them," Burt replied. When Kurt looked mutinous, he added sternly. "I'm not arguing with you. No one goes there alone and that's final."

"Come on," Finn clapped Kurt on the shoulder and led him out of the storehouse. "You know we can't trust them, they're Gypsies."

The two brothers had gotten barely within thirty feet of the tabor before the alarm was sounded. Four bare-foot children were playing a game of tag on the outskirts of the tabor when they caught sight of Kurt and his big lumbering brother. The oldest picked up the youngest and they ran for the safety of their camp, shouting a warning.

Two men emerged between caravan wagons, ornately painted though chipped and worn. Some wagons had canvas stretched over bow tops, others had wood roofs and were covered in intricate carvings. Interspersed among the wagons were rounded mound tents and everywhere a clutter of baskets, wicker chairs, cooking pots, clothes drying on a line, flower pots, tact and bridles. Ilia, the leader of their clan, had thick black curls. He was not a tall man and of a compact build, he wore loose forest green _kosovorotka_ shirt, embroidered around the collar and down the row of buttons on the left shoulder, it was belted around the waist, voluminous pants tucked into scuffed leather boots. The taller, strikingly handsome man just behind him was also dressed in the style of a Rus peasant.

Finn hailed Ilia but Kurt's eyes went past the two men to Blaine. He was wearing the vivid blue shirt he had the day at the lake, but his dark curls were once again bound beneath a red scarf. And just as before, Blaine brazenly held his gaze, the corner of his mouth twitched up.

A strange thrumming feeling welled up in Kurt. Before he could decide the meaning of that, Finn gave him a smack square in the chest.

"And this moon-calf is my brother, Kurt," Finn introduced.

Kurt reddened at Blaine's silent laughter. "Good morrow, sir," he mumbled.

"God keep you and your family," the Gypsy man answered back. "I am Ilia and this is my eldest, Cooper." He gestured to the handsome man who flashed a brilliant smile.

When Kurt's eyes slid back to Blaine, he had his head turned away, a muscle in his jaw clenched. Kurt was thrown, had he done something wrong?

Finn was explaining about the harvest feast in three days. "We open our Hall to all those in our land," Finn was saying. "We invite you and your family to join us. And if it please you, we would greatly appreciate you sharing your songs with us."

There were gasps and squeals from behind one of the wagons. A blond girl peeked out and was pulled back immediately followed by giggles.

Ilia sighed heavily and ignored the antics behind him. "His high born Baron is generous host. I expect I will have no peace if I do not accept. We are pleased to sing at your feast."

There was clapping and more squeals of excitement from behind the wagon and Cooper chuckled while Ilia wore the expression of a much harassed parent of unruly children. Whatever had bothered Blaine had passed for he was grinning happily and Kurt had to press his lips together to not respond with a smile of his own.

"Excellent!" Finn exclaimed. "We bid you good day, then." He gestured for Kurt to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I collected some photos to serve as visual references so I thought I would share them with you…
> 
>  
> 
> [Hummel Keep and village](http://cinnamon-t.tumblr.com/post/161098491091/)  
> [Romani Vardo (wagons)](http://cinnamon-t.tumblr.com/post/161098361606/)  
> [Clothing - Romani](http://cinnamon-t.tumblr.com/post/161098300146/)  
> [Clothing - Kurt, Burt, Carole, Finn, Quinn](http://cinnamon-t.tumblr.com/post/161098106861/)  
> [Clothing - Quinn, Rachel, Villagers](http://cinnamon-t.tumblr.com/post/161097982916/)


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one isn't very long. Initially this and the last two chapters were all one larger one that I broke apart so I could update faster (not exactly working out according to plan :(

In the Great Hall, the fires were lit and braziers burned all around the room making the air a little smokey. Rows of trundle tables filled every space and people were squeezed in shoulder-to-shoulder with no room to spare. The Hall was alive with chatter and laughter. All the tables were laden with drinks and food. Servants bustled back and forth from the kitchen, bringing new platters and carrying away empty dishes. At the far end of the Hall was a raised Dias upon which was the table for Burt Hummel, his wife and sons, daughter-in-law, Father Figgins, his bailiff, Captain of his Guards and village Elders.

When at last everyone had eaten their fill, Ilia stood up from his table in the Hall. He wore his very best outfit, a sunny yellow shirt, a black sleeveless vest embroidered in intricate colorful patterns, black pants and knee high boots. Over his shoulder and across his chest was a chain of coins. He walked up to the Dias with a tankard in his hand and addressed the room in a loud clear voice. Ilia bowed to Burt. "My Lord and Lady," he intoned before turning to the crowded Hall. "Good people of Lima! In all the lands, there is no lord half so noble, gracious, wise and just as his excellency, Baron Hummel!"

Raucous cheers met this praise. Ilia raised his cup. "May your troubles be less. May your pockets be heavy. May your days be many. May your cup be ever full. Wishing you always... Walls for the wind, A roof for the rain, And tea beside the fire. Laughter to cheer you, Those you love near you, And all that your heart may desire. _Nostrovia_!"

Cheers went up and all in the Hall drank to the toast. Ilia's family joined him. They too were dressed in the finest clothes. The women wore full striped skirts of every color, loose blouses, some with embroidered vests, others with flower-patterned shawls with long fringe. All had elaborately tied scarves on their heads, some with long braids tied with chains of metal coins. They brought their violins, guitars, flutes and drums.

The melody began slowly as they tuned their instruments and found their rhythm together then they quickened the beat until everyone was clapping along.

Kurt silently congratulated himself. This was what he wanted. Those nights at watch, hearing their music like a siren's call luring him to the place he had been forbidden to go, but he found a way to bring them to him. Their songs filled his soul; he wanted to dance with them but didn't dare. He stayed seated at his family's table, trying to catch glimpses of Blaine but he remained frustratingly in the back, hidden behind others.

Two young women came forward, beautiful and striking in the contrast, one fair and blond, the other dark, both dressed in wide flowing skirts, voluminous blouse sleeves, fringed shawls tied about their hips. Their many bracelets jangled as they moved. As soon as the first chords were struck the girls swirled their skirts and spun around each other. When they arched an arm above their head with a flourish of the hand, the women's chins lifted with a pride that spoke without words: we are not from any land, we are _of_ the land. Theirs was an earthy beauty.

Blaine and Cooper were dressed identically in black pants and boots, red rubakha shirts, black vests, fringed at the hem and on the back, horses embroidered in yellow. They circled around the dancing girls, exchanged a look with each other, then broke into the dance between the girls as they parted. Their arms arched upward while their booted feet tapped out an elaborate rhythm. They parted for the girls to take center stage again. The brothers smiled at each other.

Kurt's heart beat in time with everyone clapping along. What would it be like to dance like that? At the court of the Count of Karmel, it had been formal and correct. Even here at the Hall, though stiffness was abandoned in favor of an ease of people who were born and raised together and didn't need to pose, yet despite hopping, skipping and spinning until you were laughing and breathless, there still wasn't this throwing yourself into the joy of the moment. And Kurt envied that.

As the evening wore into night, Ilia and his family roused everyone with one last song, pulling people off their seats to dance with them. Kurt thought this might be his moment to dance too... to dance with Blaine. But Blaine had his own thoughts on the matter because he hopped up on the dais and then brazenly jumped onto the table sending everyone scrambling to save their cups and bowls. Father Figgins crossed himself.

Laughing and brandishing his red scarf, Blaine danced his way down the table until he finished the song directly in front of Kurt. Out of breath, Blaine gazed down at him, mischief gleaming in his warm hazel eyes. Before Kurt could even react, Blaine hopped down from the table to rejoin his family. Dropped in front of him though was the red scarf. Kurt flashed looks to the others at the table but they were all watching Blaine's retreating figure. Hastily Kurt snatched the scarf from the table down to his lap.

That night Kurt lay on his pallet, snores coming from all around the now dark and quiet Hall. In his hand was Blaine's scarf. Blaine had been so close, teasing him. Kurt was sure Blaine was flirting with him and it was a heady feeling, like being drunk on those dark curls, the thick brows over the laughing eyes, full lips that were so quick to smile, the square jaw that was so beautifully masculine. His dreams were filled with music and dancing but every time Blaine was close enough to reach out and grab, he slipped away.

*

Morning dragged on interminably. If only he had woke before everyone else than he could have skipped morning prayers or breakfast which seemed to take twice as long with everyone moving at half speed from all the ale and vodka they drank the night before. Kurt could scream.

At last, he made his excuses and escaped. Kurt made his way out of the Keep's courtyard, through the first Bailey, through the village and out the gate. Today he would disobey his father, he would go to the Gypsies. He had the perfect excuse, he was returning Blaine's scarf. Surely that was why he dropped it. Could they find a moment alone? Could Kurt somehow signal to Blaine to meet him at the lake shore where they first met? Kurt was giddy with possibilities, but as he rounded the curtain wall, the field where the Gypsies camped was empty!

Dread and panic pushed Kurt into a run as if that could carry him to an earlier hour when they would still be there. Nothing! Nothing but trodden earth and dead campfires. Wheel tracks led off to the east but no sign of them even in the distance.

Kurt stood there with the red scarf clutched in his fists.

_A love waits for you... but it will only come at a price. You may have to sacrifice something dear to you. If you will not, that love will be lost to you._

**The Night Before**

Blaine trailed behind his family. His head turned to look back at the walled Keep on the hill, a black silhouette against a dark sky, only just visible because the moon was waxing. With the moon growing fuller, it was the best time to travel, they would be breaking camp, would have done so days sooner if they had not been invited to the feast.

Did Blaine dare to stay behind? His heart was intertwined with Kurt's. He knew it, saw it, plain as you like, in the palm of Kurt's hand. But Kurt was not Romanichal, he did not believe as they believed. He had to learn the truth in his own way. He felt Kurt's eyes on him in the brief moments when they met but there hadn't been a word between them since that first day.

If he stayed, would Kurt accept him? If he did not, Blaine would be ruined, he could never return to his family. After staying with the gorgers, no Romani man would have him as husband. Ilia would mourn the loss of his son but as Vajda of their clan, he could never take Blaine back. Romani might be poor in land and material things but they were rich in family. Without his family, Blaine would be alone in the world.

With a heavy heart, Blaine entered the tabor between two vardo wagons.

" _So'i nevo?_ " came a silky voice.

Santana, the Raven-haired woman who danced at the feast, lounged lazily on the front "porch" of her vardo, a bare footed leg swinging to and fro idly as if she had been lying in wait for him.

" _Kanchi_ ," Blaine tried to answer casually. Santana had always struck Blaine as being snake like. Her beauty was hypnotic but it hid venom.

She smiled knowingly. "Planning to slip away behind the hedges with your pretty gadjo boy?"

Brittany appeared in the open door of their vardo, brushing her blonde hair. She giggled. "I think he's beautiful, pale like moonlight."

"And twice as cold, I'd wager," Santana added slyly.

In no mood for their teasing, Blaine ignored them and moved to leave them, but Santana wouldn't let prey go so easily.

"Don't tell me he wouldn't have you?" Santana sneered. "Consider yourself lucky. Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas... _marime_ —"

" _Don't_ talk about him like that!" Blaine snarled, shocking both girls. Blaine was the most even tempered member of their family, rarely ever taking offense.

Brittany was the first to recover. "Don't tease, San, Blaine is in love with his Gadjo moon-boy."

"Say it ain't so," Santana replied and she wasn't funning this time. When Blaine didn't answer, she added, "You better not let _Kak_ Ilia find out. He'll never let anything _marime_ touch familiya."

"You think I need you to lecture me about _Romanipen_?" Blaine's voice was clipped.

"You're _dilo_ if you think that gorger princeling will take you to his father, the Baron!" Santana shot back. "Dirty Gypsy thieves and whores, that's all we are to them!"

Blaine glared hard at her before turning on his heel and leaving.

"Santana," Brittany admonished, "that wasn't nice."

"The world isn't nice," Santana huffed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What possessed me to include dancing?? It seemed like a good idea until I had to describe it - so here's video for what Brittany and Santana and Blaine and Cooper dancing - <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuDscuz3_NU>
> 
> So'i nevo = what's up  
> Kanchi = nothing  
> gadjo/gorger = non-Romani  
> Romanipen = Romani law  
> marime = unclean  
> Kak = uncle/elder, not related but respected  
> dilo = fool, crazy


	5. Five

The winter snows retreated into sporadic patches and finally melted away in the heavy rains. The sun fought back the dark clouds and the signs of spring were emerging. The people discarded their heavy furred _dohka_ coats in favor of their sheep-skin _shubas_ a month ago and now were wearing their lighter, shorter _kazakins_ coats.

Kurt followed Burt and William the Bailiff into the First Bailey. They were headed for the stables. Burt wanted to inspect the surrounding farms, see how they survived the winter, check the readiness of the fields, prepare a list of needed labor, supplies, and repairs. It wasn't the only reason to leave... frankly the entire household sought excuses to escape Quinn's company. Her temper grew shorter by the day. Kurt was fairly certain his prayers were not the only ones asking for Quinn to deliver her baby so there could be a return to peace.

Kurt didn't need Quinn to drive him outdoors. All winter he took any reason, he volunteered for each of the infrequent patrols of their borders. He took the men to check the state of the roads. At long last they were dried out of the muddy mess and we're now passable. Tomorrow Kurt would share his plans with his father that he had been forming all winter. Something, anything to push memories of Blaine out of his mind and the disturbing feeling of missing a crucial chance at— No! Kurt ruthlessly shoved that thought away. It had been an infatuation, nothing more.

He was yanking on his gloves when Ryder, a junior bannerman came running over to them with a message from the watch tower. "They're back. The Gypsies, they're back."

The news hit Kurt like an ice pick cracking the ice he had been building up around his heart making a lie of all the times Kurt told himself that Blaine was a passing fancy with a handsome face. Kurt's eyes went to his father. Oh, please!

Burt dismissed the young lad with a quick thanks. As he walked around his horse to mount, he said, "We'll ride out to meet them before we head out."

Kurt turned his face, gently pressing his forehead to Pav's head to hide his first real smile all winter. He stroked the horse's broad neck. Tucked underneath his kaftan was a folded red scarf.

*

The tabor was a hive of activity as they seemed to be arguing just how they wanted their vardo wagons and tents arranged. They heard the approach of horses and Ilia and Cooper came forward to greet them.

Like his father, Kurt dismounted and walked his horse the last few feet. But he could not be bothered with their exchange of greetings, Kurt was busy scanning each of the faces of the tabor but the one he wanted most was not there. He scoured the camp again and still nothing. Was Blaine not with them? Had he joined with some other group? Could he ask without giving himself away?

When Kurt tuned back into the conversation, Ilia was trying to strike a deal. In exchange for Burt letting them breed a couple of his stallions with their mares, they would promise the first foal to Burt. His father agreed.

"Excellent!" Ilia proclaimed. "Does your grace care to see our mares? We have beautiful two year you might like."

Kurt and Burt left their own horses with William. Ilia led them to the other side of the tabor where they had once again set up a ring of rope to serve as a make-shift corral.

"Blaine," Ilia called out and issued an order in a language Kurt had never heard before. Not that it mattered, all he heard was Blaine.

Threading his way through their small herd, Blaine led the mare in question by the bridle but frustratingly he was on the far side of the horse so all Kurt could see was a muddy pair of booted legs. He couldn't be this close and not at least see him! Kurt strode over to the mare as if to examine her finer qualities. He stroked her neck to calm her to his unfamiliar presence. Blaine shifted his position and suddenly they were opposite of each other, the mare between, drinking the other in.

Blaine's wild curls were bound beneath a green scarf now. He was perhaps a touch paler from the lack of sun but still far more tan than himself. His eyes, though! This close Kurt could really see the long lashes and he could have sworn his eyes back at the lake shore had been a lighter green-ish brown but now were almost unearthly honey amber.

One of Blaine's hand still held the mare's bridle, the other rubbed at that spot where the horse's neck joined the back, the spot where companion horses nibbled, a soothing bonding gesture. While their fathers bickered over a price, Kurt surreptitiously slid his gloved fingers into the mane to touch Blaine's. The other man's eyes darkened and a hint of red colored his cheeks. Kurt was certain that he answered with a blush of his own.

"Deal!" Burt shook hands with Ilia. "Bring the mare to our stables and we will pay you."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged grins, they knew when they would meet next.

As they rode away, Burt was chatting, "He says the mare has a sweet even temper. She'll make a good present to Quinn when she comes out of her confinement. The foal can be Beth's first pony. It will be good for them to grow up together." Burt was pleased with the day's beginning. He looked over to Kurt who was lost in his own thoughts. "Weren't you saying you wanted to tell me something?"

"Oh!" Kurt startled. "I-I did." He thought of the expedition he devised to survey a path to the north and open a new trade route. "I thought I could take some men and... and repair the roof to the mill that was damaged in the last storm."

Burt looked up to the sky to gauge the weather. "Yes, do that, before the next rain."

*

If the stable boys thought it odd that Kurt was there nearly every day to see to Pav, they kept it to themselves.

A shout drew their attention to the stable's double doors. Artie ran out to meet the stranger with a suspicious, "What are you doing here?"

"I'll handle this," Kurt interrupted trailing out the door to find Artie confronting Blaine who had brought the mare as promised.

Artie looked skeptical but stood aside for Kurt. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a carrot for the mare. The corner of Blaine's mouth quirked up.

"I have your money," Kurt said. He turned his head to the watching stable boys. "The kitchen is making meat pies." The boys perked up. "I can stable this horse if you want to go."

They looked at each other hopefully and when Kurt gestured with his head giving his permission to leave. The boys grinned and ran off.

Kurt led Blaine into the stable. The Gypsy gave a low whistle at the long building wide enough for stalls on both sides. Apparently Blaine had never been inside a stable of this size before. Kurt chuckled lightly. The mare nickered nervously, throwing her head up as the horses in the stalls took interest in the newcomer. Blaine stopped to calm the mare with soft words and strokes down her neck.

When she quieted, they continued until they came to the stall they prepared for her. Kurt opened the door but the mare pranced about and balked at entering.

"She's never been caged by walls before," Blaine explained as he tightened his grip on her reins. He didn't jerk on the reins to keep the horse from expressing her fright by tossing her head yet not letting her give into her fear. "She's always been part of herd. If you can pair her with another mare, it will keep her calm."

Kurt thought about which of their mares would be a good match and decided on one. They agreed it would be best to take them outside to introduce them. Blaine attached a lead rope to his mare's bridle and let her work off her nervous energy by trotting her around in a circle, an exercise that was familiar to her and soon calmed her down. At Blaine's signal, Kurt brought over his own mare on a lead rope and let them get to know each other. Soon they had them both trotting in a circle.

Kurt grew up with horses and he knew how to handle them but he enjoyed watching Blaine work. He was gentler with them than any horse master he knew. They tended to prefer teaching the animal who was boss and the boss was to be obeyed. Instead Blaine worked with the horse and guided them into the behavior he wanted. Kurt stood next to Blaine at the center of the circle as he reversed the direction of the trot, getting the two mares to bond through a mutual exercise.

This wasn't what he had in mind when he sent the stable boys away so they could have a little time alone. He wanted to talk to Blaine, get to know him better, but he was learning so much. Blaine was in his element, at ease and confident. There was strength in his handling of the rope but he apparently didn't feel the need to impose that strength to achieve his ends. A new appreciation was growing along side the attraction for this man and the way strength and gentleness combined in him, mixed with his humor, his passion for song and dance. It was a heady appeal that drew Kurt in.

The moment was over far sooner than he wanted. Blaine slowed the horses to a canter and then to a walk before stopping them. He liked how they interacted together and pronounced them ready to share a stall. Any protest Kurt might have made died on his lips as he saw the stable boys making their way back. He could hear them laughing and chatting at the door by the time he and Blaine latched the stall door.

Kurt untied the purse from his belt and handed the sack of coins to Blaine. "You've more than earned this."

Blaine nodded his thanks and turned to go but Kurt caught his hand. He dropped his voice to a whisper, "When can I see you again?"

That mischief glinted in his eyes. "On trail to lake, there's old gnarled tree..."

"I know it!"

Blaine pulled his hand away before the stable boys could see.


End file.
